


Catbread in the News

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [21]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Overnight, everybody's out of the closet and in the papers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread in the News

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mean people and hate language.  
> 

It was in all the papers the next morning. Even the LA press had the story. When Quinlan came out of the bathroom, Murray was reading it, leaning against the counter and chewing his lip while breakfast burned on the stove.

"What's going on, kid?" he asked worriedly, turning off the burners.

"They're talking about us in the papers. About how you resigned over sexual harassment, of all fucking things. Jeez, Lieutenant, how did it happen so fast?"

Quinlan took the paper and leaned his hip on the counter, almost but not quite touching Murray's. _King Harbor Police Lieutenant Resigns_ was the twenty-four point font headline. The article under it began—_Recently returned Lt. Ted Quinlan has resigned amid allegations of homosexuality and possible conspiracy charges involving the shooting death of a kidnapping suspect by his lover, Dr. Murray Bozinsky. Sources report that Lt. Quinlan was assaulted in his office by a co-worker yesterday afternoon and immediately reached a settlement to accompany his resignation._

"Christ in a cartoon," he sighed, rapidly scanning the rest of the article. It had a complete rundown of his entire career, his wife and son's names, and way more mentions of Murray than were strictly necessary. They even named some of his video games and classes that he'd taught, to be absolutely certain that everyone he'd ever met would know exactly who they were talking about. Quinlan had expected it for himself, eventually, but this was unfair.

"We'll sue the bastards for libel," he said, flinging the paper down on the table.

"Can we do that when it's all true?"

"Shit, I don't know. I'm sorry, kid. Maybe you were right. I said I wasn't going to hide and now we're both finished."

"Yes, well, you also said the day started off better when I made breakfast," Murray said, his smile weak and tired. "You say a lot of things."

"I usually mean 'em. I just never expected it to be in the fucking papers. Maybe we better rethink this whole arrangement." He shoved away from the counter and went to the fridge for more eggs, keeping his back to Murray to hide his miserable expression.

"Wait—no. Rethink what?" he asked, his voice gone small and frightened. "Ted, what are you talking about? You—you promised—just last night—you promised me…"

Quinlan's shoulders slumped and he closed the refrigerator without taking anything out.

"I promised I wouldn't leave you or resent you," he said. "And I wont. This is all my fault—I got no reason to blame you." He tried, in a subtle way, to meet what he thought were Murray's standards, but his poor habits of grammar reasserted themselves at times like this. If Murray ever noticed either way, he gave no sign.

"But you want me to go."

Quinlan spun around and grabbed him around the waist, hugging him hard, pulling Murray's head down to his shoulder.

"I don't want you to go. Don't ever think that."

"Then what am I supposed to think? What—what else could you possibly mean?"

"I mean we need to figure this shit out. Come on, let's try breakfast again. I'm hungry." He gave Murray a shake, kissed his cheek and let go.

"Ted, you don't—you don't want me to leave?"

"What did I just say? I don't want to lose you, ever. That's what I was dreaming about last night, you know." He went back for the eggs and ham while Murray scraped the burned food out of the pans.

"How would I know that? You didn't tell me."

"I dreamed that it was—must have been almost two years ago. I was living in that shitty apartment, missing you and not even knowing what I missed. I saw you and I still didn't quite remember, I just knew you meant something to me. And then you got shot, and by the time I figured out what was wrong, what I was supposed to be remembering, it was too late."

"Too late?"

"You died before I figured it out. I—I missed—you. I missed everything and you were gone. I ain't gonna let that happen."

"That's awful, Lieutenant. I'm so sorry."

"It's just a dream. Forget it." He put the food on the counter by the stove and sat down at the table.

"So what is there to talk about?" Murray asked, laying slices of ham in the skillet.

"How are you gonna work with this hanging over your head? Can you still teach?"

"I don't know. But Nick and Cody aren't going to fire me. And I can still design games and build hardware at home like I always have. I've done a lot of reading on the subject, and it seems like this kind of thing—personal things—only really matter when you have to work with other people. As you know."

"I know. You don't think it'll put people off your stuff?"

"I don't see why it should. I mean, the games are the same."

"So was my police work." He jumped when the phone rang and they looked at each other, wondering if they should answer. Quinlan looked at the clock and tried to decide if they knew anyone who would call at half past six.

"Lieutenant, did you get anything about that severance package in writing?"

"Yeah. It's probably safe to get that."

It was a reporter, and he hung up without saying anything. It rang again, and again he just listened for a few seconds and hung up. Then he pulled the cord out of the bottom of the phone and picked up the paper, folding it to the sports page.

"Breakfast gonna be ready soon?"

"Couple minutes. Are we not answering the phone anymore?"

"I don't see why we should."

Murray thought about that for a moment and then began breaking eggs into a pan. He let them fry a bit, flipped them once, and pushed down the lever on the four-slice toaster. As he dished up the ham and eggs, he asked quietly, "Are you scared, Lieutenant?"

"A little."

He put a plate in front of Quinlan and sat down across from him.

"Can I have the comics? I'm not in the mood for news today."

***

They ate breakfast, lingering over their coffee and paper, not realizing that a small crowd of reporters and neighbors was gathering on the front lawn. If they'd slept in, or if Murray had just gotten the paper a little later, it would have been much worse. As it was, with the blinds down and the curtains closed, neither knew they were in center of a growing maelstrom until Murray opened the front door to put a piece of outgoing mail in the box. A flashbulb popped and two reporters rushed at the porch. Murray stepped back, closed the door, and locked it.

"Lieutenant? They're here."

"Who's here, kid?"

"The—the TV people."

"Are you messing with me, Bozinsky?" he demanded, coming into the living room.

"No, sir."

The doorbell rang and they both flinched. Someone started pounding on the door and Murray reached for Quinlan's hand.

"I wonder what would happen if we called the police," he whispered.

"Baby, I wish I knew. Let's just go around the house and make sure all the shades are down."

"I kind of want to hide in the shower."

"I do, too, but we can't start that. We hide now, we'll be hidin' forever."

They pulled down shades, closed venetian blinds and drew curtains over every window. Then, not knowing what else to do, they sat down on the sofa and watched the early morning cartoons.

"Hey," Murray said happily. "_What's Opera, Doc?_ My favorite."

"It would be. You ever see that Road Runner cartoon where the coyote builds the robot?"

"I love that one, too. Although if it was me, I'd have built a little car to follow it in, you know, to control it."

"I'd've shot the damn bird and got on with my life."

"Yes, I'd love to see what you'd do with the Gordian Knot."

"What?"

Murray leaned over and kissed him, glad all over that the blinds were closed and no one could see. When he sat up again, Quinlan just gave him a look.

"I never know what you're talking about."

"Nothing that matters. I love you, Lieutenant."

Quinlan squeezed his knee wordlessly, and they went on watching the cartoon. It wasn't that hard to ignore what was happening outside, in spite of the knocking on the door. At least they had stopped ringing the bell. But during the next cartoon, a Porky Pig in which neither was particularly interested, there was a definite scuffle on the porch. People were yelling and a familiar voice rose above the rest. The pounding on the door got louder and Murray heard that voice calling his name.

"Nick's here," he said, leaping to his feet.

"We're as good as sued then," Quinlan muttered. "He'll have hit at least one of them by now."

Murray opened the door and Nick and Cody fought their way in, beating back microphones and holding their hands in front of their faces to block the camera lenses. A mike followed and Murray slammed the door on it, cracking it badly, then eased up enough for the owner to retrieve it before slamming the door again.

"So," he said casually. "What brings you by?"

"This," Cody said, slapping him in the chest with a folded newspaper. It was the local _King Harbor Picayune_, which Murray didn't get. He and Quinlan subscribed to _The LA Times_. His hands shook as he opened it, not surprised to see his own face on the front page.

"Shit." He read it briefly and then tossed it to Quinlan. Everyone's names were in this one, up to and including the Riptide Detective Agency.

"Motherfucker," Quinlan said, throwing it aside. "I never thought this would happen. Goddamn Fry must have started selling this story two minutes after I left yesterday."

"Yeah, we've been getting calls all morning," Cody said. "I tried to call you, but your phone just rang."

"We unplugged it," Murray said. "I tried calling you guys after breakfast, but with all the calls coming in, I couldn't even get a dial tone. Every time I tried, it rang first."

"We thought something might have happened to you. What are you gonna do about that crowd outside?" Cody sounded worried and Murray wondered how his friends could even leave.

"We're ignoring them for now. The lieutenant thinks they might get bored and leave at some point."

"Did you think about calling the police?" Nick asked.

"All things considered," Murray said, "we weren't sure that was the way to go. But maybe one of the neighbors will complain about the noise. They might get more attention. Anyway, can I get you some coffee or something?"

"No thanks," Cody said. "Look, Boz, you can't just hide in here forever, you know."

"No, they'll go home eventually. You can sneak out the back if you want to go. I haven't heard anyone out there."

"We'd like to stick around a little while. They're harassing us at the pier, too, and it's really pissing off Mama Jo."

"Great. Have a seat. _The Flintstones_ are on next. Are you sure you don't want some coffee?"

"I'll have a cup, Boz," Nick said, mostly to give him something to do. While Murray and Quinlan were in the kitchen pouring coffee for all of them, there was another more determined knock, followed by the ringing doorbell. "LT, can I go kick some ass for you? This is getting stupid."

"Lieutenant Quinlan," called a female voice. "I'm your neighbor. I'm not a reporter, I promise."

Cody opened the door against the chain and met a pair of earnest brown eyes.

"Can I come in? I swear, I'm just a friendly neighbor."

"Ted, do you have any friends?" he called over his shoulder.

"Out there? I doubt it."

"Come on in, miss." He closed the door, took off the chain, and let her in. She was small and plain, with short cropped hair and glasses, carrying a Tupperware cake container.

"Is the lieutenant here? Or Dr. Bozinsky?"

"Yeah, in the kitchen."

She smiled and carried her container in to put on the counter.

"Something I can do for you?" Quinlan asked, not at all friendly. Murray nudged him lightly and offered her a cup of coffee.

"Sure, if it's no trouble. My name's Jane. Jane Page. I just moved in next door and I've been meaning to come say hi. We—that is, me and my girlfriend, Deb—baked you a cake. She would have come but she had to go in to work early."

"So you just decided that the day with the huge crowd on the lawn was the perfect time to get acquainted? What's your game, chickie?"

"What? No, no game. I—of course I saw the paper. That was why I thought you might appreciate the neighborly support. We—Deb and I—left our hometown after we were outed and she lost her job. She's a legal aid, which is kind of ironic, I know, but small towns are like that."

"That's terrible," Murray said, thinking of Cypress Bay.

"Yes, well, we thought LA would be better, and I had some friends out here, so we came down just in time for the big gay scandal, as it turns out. Anyway, I guess I should go. I just wanted you to know that not everyone in the neighborhood is out there on your lawn. Some of us are on your side."

"Why don't you stay a minute, since you're already here," Quinlan said, thawing just a little. "No sense fighting your way through that mess again so soon."

"Great. Would you like some cake? It's lemon Bundt. Deb's specialty."

"Sure," Murray said, always wanting to be polite. "Nick, Cody, do you want some cake?"

They both wandered in to see what kind it was and be introduced to Jane.

"So you two are the private detectives. That's a real bitch, dragging everyone into it like they did."

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly news around here," Cody grinned. "We never put it in the paper, but it hasn't been much of a secret the last couple years."

"I thought we were going to have a chance at that, too," Murray said sadly, slicing Bundt cake and putting it on small plates. Quinlan laid a firm hand on his back, lending him a little strength.

"If I'd known, kid, I wouldn't have done it that way. You know that."

"I'm not blaming you, Lieutenant. I'm blaming _them_," he said with a vicious gesture toward the front door. "If they're still there when I've finished my coffee, I'm calling the police. This is bullshit and you know it."

"Why don't you say something to them?" Jane asked. "Maybe if you gave a statement they'd be satisfied and leave."

"What should we do, go fuck on the porch for 'em?" Quinlan snapped. "Why in hell would we give those vultures anything?"

"I don't mean that," she said, not even embarrassed. "Isn't there something you'd like to say? Some message you want to give before everyone makes up their minds?"

Murray sat down at the table and studied his slice of cake for a while, hoping Quinlan would speak again. When he did, it wasn't what Murray wanted to hear.

"Maybe you _should_, kid. It's not like it could get worse."

"It could get worse," Nick said hastily. "If you want to say something, write it out and send it to the papers. Don't let them get those lights on you or you'll screw it up for sure."

Murray turned appealing eyes on Quinlan, who gave up and plugged in the phone. After one call to Captain Lang's office, three patrol cars arrived and five officers cleared the lawn.

"I like you, Jane," Cody said as they watched through the living room window. "You have good ideas."

"Well, I've been fighting this shit all my life. You guys are lucky the police are on your side."

"If they were really on my side, this wouldn't have happened," Quinlan grumbled.

"Yeah, well, they showed up," she shrugged. "They don't always."

"She's right," Nick said. "And isn't that Sergeant Fry who has that reporter in the headlock?"

"I'll be damned. I guess he doesn't care whose ass it is, so long as he's the one kicking it."

When the reporters were herded into their vans and the neighbors all gone home, Fry and a couple of other uniforms knocked on the door.

"Morning, Ted," he said fuzzily, his face still swollen from yesterday's beating.

"Sergeant. Nice of you to drop by."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you that I didn't sell you out. I never meant for you to quit, and I didn't talk to the press. It was Lang's secretary who called them in. He fired her this morning."

"Really? That chickie, Rowan—Something—sold me out?" he asked without much interest. Fry hung his head and picked nervously at the hat in his hands.

"Really. I'm not saying it wasn't my fault, because I did start it, but I never meant it to go this far. I'm sorry, Ted."

"Forget it. I was ready to retire anyway. You boys got time for some coffee?"

"No, sir. We have to get back and do some damage control. The—the department's still behind you, Lieutenant. We're gonna smooth this thing over as best we can."

"Thanks," he said shortly, but was willing to shake their hands. The officers left and they all went back to watching cartoons. Quinlan didn't guess it was over, but after last night's almost complete lack of sleep, he wasn't interested in the next round yet.

He didn't know how tired he was, though, until the reporters were gone and the immediate strain relieved. When Murray sat down beside him, Quinlan laid his head on the bony shoulder and fell asleep.

Jane finished her coffee and got up to leave, telling Murray he could return the cake box any time. He thanked her for coming, and Nick walked her home, just in case there were any more reporters lurking outside. After that, there was nothing to do but watch TV until the next thing came along. That didn't happen until Quinlan woke two hours later and suggested they all go out to lunch.

***

"Was this really a good idea?" Murray whispered, feeling more eyes upon him than perhaps there really were. Nick and Cody, with their years of practice, did a better job of acting casual, but Murray was trembling and clumsy with fear. Quinlan wanted to touch him, to comfort him somehow, but a public display of affection was the last thing the poor kid needed right now. He already looked like was going to be sick.

"We can't hide," Quinlan said, quiet but firm. "No open shows of defiance, no making out in the john, just go about our business and let it die down."

Murray nodded, not looking at all reassured, and promptly knocked over his water glass. Luckily, he'd already consumed half of it, and Nick mopped up the water.

"It's okay, Boz," he said, touching Murray's arm lightly. Murray flinched and nearly took out the breadbasket.

"Leave him alone," Quinlan said, not unkindly. "You can't mess with him when he's nervous."

The waitress, a girl named Candy who had flirted determinedly with Cody every day for a year and now had a hard time looking him in the eye, brought their food and refilled Murray's glass. He thanked her and received a polite smile that left him wondering whether they should punish or bribe her when it came time to tip.

"So did you decide about the wrecking yard job?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I think we're going to start next week, if you're up for it," Nick said.

"Me? Yeah, I—I don't see why not. What about you, Cody? How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts like hell. But I can sit in the car all right and we need the money. Can you get some cameras and stuff together?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I've been working on a portable monitoring system that would let us put up temporary cameras and watch from the car. It's so boss. You're going to love it."

"Man, every day you take more of the work out of work," Cody laughed.

"Is that what you've been doing at night when you're supposed to be sleeping?" Quinlan asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Sometimes. Once you're asleep, what do you care?"

"Hey, you're a grown man. If you don't…" He trailed off, looking over Nick's shoulder at the door. Murray followed his gaze and paled noticeably.

"What is it?" Cody asked, unable to twist his body far enough to see.

"Cops," Quinlan said shortly. "Troy and McNairy."

"Shit. Whose side are they on?"

"Don't know. McNairy was always kind of a buddy of mine, but that can really bite you in the ass when secrets come out." He kept watching as they approached, hoping at first that they weren't coming over, and then hoping they were going to the next table when it became apparent that they were.

"Hey, Quinlan, what's new?" McNairy said, pulling up a chair and sitting down between him and Cody. Al Troy went around the table and sat between Murray and Nick, signaling Candy to bring them menus.

"You being funny, Bret?"

"Not on purpose. That was a mess over at your place this morning, wasn't it? Things settle down after we left?"

"Yeah, it got real quiet after the media shoved off. So, is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"Don't need to talk. Lang told us all to kind of keep an eye on you guys for a while, make sure no one gave you any trouble. We saw your car out front and decided to drop in. You know, I think he's kind of hoping you'll change your mind and come back."

"Well, that ain't gonna happen. And we don't need bodyguards, either."

"Hey, captain's orders. You'll be glad somebody's got their eyes open when you get waylaid in a parking lot some night."

"Who do you think you're talking to, pal?" Quinlan said, half teasing. "I was knifing commies in the jungle when you were in junior high."

"Yeah, and if you weren't so damn old, maybe you could take care of yourself," he joked.

"Go to hell, McNairy."

"Be sure you save me a seat."

Murray calmed down a lot after that, reassured by the presence of uniformed officers, but Troy was still careful not to bump him or startle him in any way. He had the vague idea that skinny homosexuals were a nervous breed, and wondered how the gruff and hostile lieutenant had managed to go so long without scaring the little guy to death.

It ended up being a better time than anyone had any right to expect, and even Candy had thawed a little by the time she brought the check. There were photographers in the parking lot, but no one looked directly at them or did anything worth shooting. No hand holding, no shoulders brushing together, no parting kisses as the group broke up and got into their own cars. Nothing, in short, that any other men wouldn't do, and less than Nick and Cody had done in public before they were outed.

The hope was that after a few days of that kind of disappointment, the photographer's editors would stop wasting time and put them to more profitable use. All the guys had to do was not give people anything to look at, and eventually they would stop looking.

"Does it make you feel like a fake?" Murray asked as they drove home.

"Does what?"

"Well—you know. Being in the closet. Acting like you're ashamed."

"I'm not ashamed, or acting like it, either. If you ever asked my ex, she'd tell you I never did that stuff in public anyway. Used to drive her crazy. She said the same thing, too. Said it looked I was ashamed of her."

"Were you?"

"No. Kid, I don't want to touch you in public because when I do—hell, I can't think of anything else. I wouldn't notice if someone was cutting my throat. It's just not safe."

"Gosh, Lieutenant. That's about the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't take much to please you, does it?"

"No. So is that why you didn't touch your wife, too?"

"Not exactly," he laughed. "She only wanted me to when there was some asshole watching that she wanted to make jealous. Or maybe a girl that she thought was looking at me. It wasn't ever about us; it was always about who was looking."

"Oh. Did she think you were cheating on her? Is that why she was possessive around other women?"

"Who the hell knows? She accused me enough, but I never knew what she was really thinking."

"You never know what I'm thinking," Murray pointed out carefully.

"That's not so. I almost always know what you're thinking, when it matters. It's when you start _talking_ that I get lost." He laid his hand on Murray's thigh and proved his point by letting the car waver a little on the road.

"Better watch what you're doing, Lieutenant," he smiled, covering Quinlan's hand with his own. "Don't want to have any—accidents."

"Keep talking, kid. I'm gonna fuck you when we get home anyway."

"Oh. That's good. May as well, since we're in trouble for it already."

"That's what I was thinking," Quinlan agreed and they laughed together, bright and joyful in the cool October sun.

***

No one was waiting when they got home, but Murray had left the phone plugged in and the answering machine was full. He wanted to check it in case something important had happened, but the phone started ringing again and Quinlan was pulling on his hand. Murray put another tape in the machine, turned off the ringer, and followed him to the bedroom.

They had made love just last night, but it was different then. Frightened and urgent. This time was more fun, in spite of the terrible beginning of the day, and its still uncertain end. Quinlan was careful to make sure the blinds were closed properly and even turned off the lights before climbing into bed, but he felt safe there. Safer even than he'd felt last night, before all this, lying awake with the shadow of that dream hanging over him. But it was with the dream in mind that he went so carefully over Murray's body, kissing and caressing him, treasuring every inch of warm, living flesh. He cradled the heavy sac in his hand, nuzzling and lipping the length of Murray's shaft, then kissed his way back up to the slender throat. There was no longer any reason not to make visible marks, and he left great bruises behind Murray's ears and all the way down to his collarbones.

"I need to have you," he whispered. "I need to be inside you."

"God, yes," Murray sighed. "Yes, please."

Quinlan reached for the lube and sat up, crossing his legs tailor fashion and drawing Murray into his arms, settling him between his thighs. Murray loved it this way, face to face, holding each other close, their cocks rubbing together, trapped between their bodies as slick fingers worked inside him, teasing and stretching, making him ready. He groaned softly against Quinlan's mouth and it turned into a deep, sloppy kiss, as gentle and forceful as the hands on his body. Slowly, tentatively, he rocked against the hard, muscled chest, pushing the strong fingers deeper, already sweating and desperate by the time they reached his tender gland.

"Please, Ted," he whispered with a reproving nip to his ear. "You're gonna make me come."

"So? You can come again."

"No. Just once, Lieutenant. It's better all at once."

"You'll regret it when you're old, kiddo," he grinned and went on teasing. If Murray wanted it to last, that was going to be up to him.

But torture went both ways, and Murray knew his lover's options in that regard were more limited than his own. He leaned back and gripped Quinlan's cock in one hand, stroking him long and slow.

"No fair," he panted, even as he gave in. He barely had time to slick himself before Murray was on him, pushing him in, hard and fast, whimpering a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Hey, careful," Quinlan breathed, trying to restrain him. He loved the feel of tight flesh roughly parted, but not at Murray's expense. Nothing was worth hurting the one who had sacrificed so much for him already.

But Murray fought him, pushing harder, sinking him deeper, groaning in pure pleasure now as Quinlan gave in and took his aching cock in hand. He ran his thumb over the leaking slit, gasping his own pleasure as Murray flinched, his muscles tightening almost unbearably, returning torture for torture.

"This is making it last?"

"We'll come together at least," Murray sighed, pulling back a little and pushing him in again, finding the angle now to make the thick cock strike his gland. "Fuck, Lieutenant, that's nice. Help me now, please. Harder. Help me…"

Quinlan slid his arm around Murray's waist and pulled him down sharply at the top of each stroke, bringing their bodies together with more and more force. Murray's arms tightened around his neck, holding him so close there was no room to move his hand between them, but it was no longer necessary. Sensations blended together until it didn't matter what created them, fingers and palm and the lightly furred skin of Quinlan's belly against his cock all conspiring to drive him wild. Only the shaft within him was a separate sensation, and he cried out helplessly as it pounded his sensitive gland.

"Baby, don't hurt yourself," Quinlan murmured.

"Doesn't hurt. God, Ted…so good…" he gasped and came almost immediately, hiding his face in his lover's neck and crying his name over and over until Ted came, stifling a shout.

"Lieutenant…" he sighed, tearful and shuddering.

"Shh. It's okay, kid."

"Lie down with me."

"Okay. It's okay, Murray." He lay down, the thin body cradled in his arms, and pulled the blankets over them both.

"Why am I scared?" he whispered.

"You've been under a lot of stress, that's all. Just rest a minute."

"I love you so much, Lieutenant. I—I'm sorry it's cost you all of this."

"Don't be. I'm not gonna get all sentimental on you, kid, but you know what I'd say. You know what I was two years ago and you know what I am now."

"I know you were employed."

"I was an asshole."

"Are you saying I make you a better man?"

"I'm saying shut up." He kissed Murray softly, taking the sting out of the words, and held him until he dozed.

When Murray woke, he felt stronger, and they showered together without talking about anything important. Not intending to go out or see anyone for the rest of the day, they dressed in jeans and casual shirts, Quinlan's polo and Murray's favorite t-shirt, which his lover had given him for his last birthday. It had a cartoon Einstein on the front, writing on a blackboard, _Einstein's Theory of Reality: Shit Happens_.

It wasn't cold, so they didn't bother with shoes and Murray felt comfortably at home. He refused to fear the things waiting outside until he had to face them, and that could wait until tomorrow.

But he was a little bit curious about the messages on the answering machine and got his miniature cassette player to listen to the full tape in the kitchen while Quinlan changed the sheets on the bed. Most of the messages were from reporters seeking interviews and he didn't write down their information. A couple were from friends wanting to know if the papers were telling the truth and if he was all right. They didn't sound judgmental, so he wrote down the names to call them back. The only messages that worried him were the one from Caltech, where he was planning to teach in the spring, and one from his mother. He hated that his family had to be involved, and knowing that the news had reached Chicago scared him a little.

He put the tape in the answering machine and wound it back to the beginning to record over, then put the other one in the player to see what had come in while they were in bed. Again, it was mostly reporters, but there was another call from Murray's mother, worried that he hadn't called back, and two for Quinlan that he didn't know how to handle. His hand shook a little as he wrote down the names and phone numbers, then went to the bedroom to ask.

"What's wrong, kid? You see a ghost?" Quinlan asked dryly, in the middle of putting a pillow in its case. For an old bachelor, he was charmingly particular about having clean sheets, and insisted that everything had to match.

"No, but I feel like I heard one. I—I was—uh—listening to the phone messages, and—and Lorna called."

"Who?"

"Lorna. Your ex-wife. She wants to talk to you, I guess. She left her number."

"That can't be good. What in hell would she want to talk to me for?"

"I don't know. Your son called, too."

"Beautiful. Three months ago he's saying I should've stayed dead, and now he wants to talk. I don't suppose he said why."

"No. Are you going to call them back?"

"Fuck 'em. They can't have anything to say that I want to hear." He threw the pillow across the bed and took up the other one, stuffing it brutally into its sleeve.

"Maybe you should," Murray said hesitantly.

"If it's important, they'll call back. Were there any messages I care about?"

"Probably not. I guess I might be losing my Caltech contract. I'll have to call tomorrow and find out. And my mom called. I hope no one's bothering her. This can't be good for her heart."

"She'll be fine. She's a tough lady." He dropped the other pillow and sat down on the bed. "This is going to blow over, kid. At least out in the world, it will. Everyone who doesn't see us every day will forget by the end of the week. They aren't gonna hurt your mother or my son."

"I know, it's just so stupid and embarrassing. I wouldn't want the whole world taking about my sex life no matter who it was with, you know? It's just so—personal. Or it should be. How can it affect my ability to teach physics to college sophomores?"

"It can't. If they want to cancel your contract they can probably find a way, but when you talk to them, tell them to think it over. By spring it'll have all blown over and they'll regret losing you."

"I hope so. I've heard of people being blackballed over affairs and divorces, but it doesn't seem like it's the same thing. I haven't hurt anyone, have I?" He was still standing in the doorway, staring disconsolately at the scrap of paper in his hand. Quinlan rose and took it from him, as if relieving him of a great burden.

"No, Murray, you haven't hurt anyone. And if they don't want you, someone else will. You're too smart to be out of work."

"I hope so," he said again. "Are you hungry? I could make us a grilled cheese or something."

"Yeah, I could eat."

Murray went to the kitchen and turned the phone ringer back on. He was slicing cheese when it rang and he picked it up guiltily, expecting to hear his mother's voice.

"Hello," he said, and started to add _Mama_, when a male voice cut him off.

"Who is this?"

"I—this is Murray Bozinsky. To whom am I speaking?"

"Should have known. This is Theo Quinlan."

Murray had to think about that for a second. The lieutenant had always called his son Teddy, and he realized that this new name must be an attempt to distance himself from his disgraced father. He felt worse for the son, if that were the case, but still didn't look forward to Ted's reaction.

"Yes, of course," he said senselessly. "We—we've spoken before. I—I was the one who called you when your father died."

"Except he didn't die, did he? He never told the truth about anything in his life. So, were you fucking him back then, too?"

"I—we—yes. We were together when he went away. I had no way of knowing he was alive when I called you, or I wouldn't have done it."

"And you took the lying bastard back? I checked you out, you know. You're supposed to be a genius and here you are, falling for a ration of shit that even my dropout mother could see through."

"Now you wait a minute," he snapped, finally roused by the unfavorable comparison to Lorna. "Ted's never lied to me. He couldn't help what happened and he came back as soon as he could."

"I'm sure he did. He'd never give up a rich fool if he didn't have to."

"Is—is this why you called? To insult us? I didn't realize you were this interested in anything your father did." He turned to lean against the counter and saw the lieutenant standing in the doorway listening, his face expressionless.

"I was hoping it wasn't true. I've had people asking me all day if that was my old man on CNN, and I've been saying it's not. I'm going to keep on saying that, too."

"Well, that's up to you, I guess," Murray said slowly. "But I don't really understand."

"Nobody's asking you to. Fucking perverts, the both of you. You deserve each other."

Murray swallowed hard, blinking back sudden tears. He was pale and a little shaky, but when he spoke, his voice was strong.

"Thank you. I've always wondered if I was quite good enough for him, and you've really set my mind at ease."

Those words got Quinlan moving like nothing else could and he crossed the kitchen swiftly, snatching the phone away.

"Teddy, is that you?"

"It's Theo, Ted. I don't want to be called by your name. I never did."

"Fine. You call yourself whatever you want. And you say whatever you want to me, or your mother or anyone else, but not to Bozinsky. He's off limits, understand?"

"Nice. You're more protective of your little fuck buddy than you ever were your wife. Do you cheat on him, too, or does he care?"

"I never cheated on your mother," he said, knowing it wasn't quite true, but that it was more true than what she'd said about him.

"Right, she didn't leave you because of your affairs. You think I'm going to believe that?"

"Believe what you want. But she was the cheater in that marriage, whatever she says. And why do you care, anyway? You wrote me off a long time ago."

"Yeah, I did. But you're still fucking up my life. Just when I thought I was clear of you, you're all over the news with your famous fuck toy, and suddenly I'm a faggot's son."

"That's enough of that, Te—Theo. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I got better things to do."

"Like sucking cock? Fine, I have one thing to say. I'm glad you lost your job. I'm glad you've finally ruined your own life, and I hope it ruins his, too. But I'm done with you. I won't let you hurt me anymore."

"I never hurt you, son," he said quietly. "I stayed with you mother and put up with her whoring for your sake. I paid for your college and bought you the car that you left home in. I was the best father I knew how to be, and if it wasn't enough—well, there's nothing I can do about it now."

"My mother was not a whore," Theo said and hung up. Quinlan held onto the phone for a long moment before pushing the button and standing it back in its cradle.

Murray laid a tentative hand on his shoulder and Quinlan shook it off, going to the table and sitting down dejectedly. He buried his face in his hands and Murray held back this time, wanting to do something and fearing further rejection. When he finally made his move, laying his hands on the back of Quinlan's neck and rubbing gently, he felt the tremor that the other man had sought to hide.

"Lieutenant," he said softly, then didn't know where to go from there.

"I was in the room when he was born," Quinlan said. "I was the first person to hold him, even before his mother. I changed his diapers and went to his baseball games and taught him to drive while his mom was out fucking strangers for spare change."

"Ted, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. It doesn't really even have anything to do with you. He needs an excuse and you're handy, that's all."

"But why? Why does he need to hate you?"

"Kids do that when their parents split up. At least a lot of them do. They have to take sides. It's been eleven, twelve years now, but he's still taking sides. He always was a mama's boy, even if I was the one that mostly raised him."

"That's awful. He—he should have good memories of you. Of all the things you did together."

"Maybe he does. I don't know, kid. I don't really care." But his moist eyes suggested that he did. He rubbed his face roughly and sat up straight, flexing into Murray's hands. "Weren't you making some food? I'm getting hungry."

"Yeah, I'll get on that." He bent and kissed Quinlan softly on the forehead, then returned to the grilled cheese project. The next time the phone rang, it was Ted who answered it. Murray listened to his side of the conversation without interrupting.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Mrs. Bozinsky. Sorry, Marta. Murray was going to call you tonight; he's making supper right now. No, he's okay. Little guy's tougher than he looks. He's sorry you folks have to be involved, of course. We both are." He paused and listened a moment, then said, "Is it very bad over there? Not going to affect Matthew's work, is it? Oh, that's good. No, we don't know yet. What about Melba? Is she in the country, even?" Another long pause, and then, "No kidding. Well, she's better off. It'll all be over by the time she gets back. Here, you ought to talk to Murray. Yeah, thank you, Marta. Me too." He got up and handed Murray the phone.

"Go on, I'll do this," he whispered and took over watching the sandwiches on the stove.

"Hi, Mama," he said, almost shyly. Somehow, this was nearly as bad as telling them in the first place.

"Are you all right, darling?" she asked at once and he could have cried at the compassion in her voice.

"I'm fine, Mama. What about you? Are they really talking about us in Chicago?"

"I'm afraid so. I've heard from _People_ and _Popular Science_ already. I suppose you have, too."

"They left messages, but I'm not going to talk to them. My plan is to ignore the whole thing and hope it goes away."

"Good. Your daddy and I were hoping you'd do that. Not that you have anything to be ashamed of, Scooter, because you don't. But it's no one else's business."

"I know, Mama. I have to go, though. The lieutenant's burning supper. I'll call next weekend, okay? Give Daddy a kiss for me. I love you." He hung up and took the spatula from Quinlan to turn the sandwiches.

"I'm sure glad you have a decent family, at least," Quinlan grinned. "Seems like one of us should."

"They think of you as family. Maybe you should start thinking that way, too."

"I guess I'll have to if I'm gonna have any at all."

Murray flipped their sandwiches onto plates and Quinlan carried them to the table while he got the potato chips.

"Isn't it funny," Murray said as they sat down to eat, "that people get so upset over something so ordinary? I almost wish they could see us doing things like this."

"What, eating?" Quinlan asked, puzzled.

"Yes. And reading and watching TV and doing laundry, and all the other things that everyone does. I guess being gay is supposed to be a big deal, but I just feel so _normal_. I can't understand why those reporters are so interested, or why your son is so upset."

"It's because all they can think about is what we were doing an hour ago."

"I suppose so. But it doesn't seem any weirder than doing it with girls. And it's nobody's business anyway."

"No, it isn't. But the novelty will wear off. You know what the eight o'clock movie is tonight?"

"Um—I think it's _The Great Escape_."

"Good. Are you gonna watch it or do you have to work tonight?"

"I can do both. I don't think I'll be able to sleep much."

"You ain't gonna sit up and stew about those reporters, are you?"

"No. Well, not much, anyway." He smiled a little, knowing he was caught, and finished his supper quickly.

"I'll wash the dishes, kid. You go do something interesting," Quinlan said, taking his plate.

"Call me when the movie starts?"

He was answered with a warm hand on the back of his neck and a kiss on the head as Quinlan moved toward the sink. Murray got up and went to his office where a lovely programming challenge awaited him. He sincerely hoped that it wouldn't be long before people were as interested in that as they currently were in his sex life.


End file.
